"You need someone to arrest."
"I'm not gonna lie." She'd see through it anyway. "I need you. You're a lead. You've witnessed something."
"I don't wanna be a lead."
Her muffled voice brought a smile to his face. "I'm sorry about that part, too."
"I really don't think I'm a drug dealer."
"Why not?" He eased down beside her, leaving a foot of clearance.
"Because . . . I'm s-scared." She raised her head. "Shouldn't I be mean? Tough? Ruthless?"
Despite all the bad news, he wanted her to feel better. "What I've seen so far indicates you're tough." When her expression didn't change, he experienced a wave of compassion. "It was pretty mean to hope you snored-" He choked back laughter. "Like a monster."
Her smothered laugh was muted with tears. Tentatively, he slid closer, offering comfort if she wanted it. Surprise shot through him when she launched herself at him. Moments earlier, her eyes had blazed emerald deathrays. Now, her face was planted against his chest.
"I h-hate not knowing." Her voice muffled in his shirt.
He held her stiffly. Awkwardly. As though he might need to prevent himself from doing something stupid. "You don't strike me as the type who gives up easy."
"I'm usually in charge," she admitted, "but the last four days, I feel completely lost."
Before he could catch himself, Matt inhaled her scent. The glorious combination of warm skin and soap. The essence of a perfume that could only be captured at close range. The lethal riot of damp, silky curls that had him fighting the urge to sift them through his fingers.
"I'm supposed to solve problems— not cause them." Her gaze lifted, lashes spiked with unshed tears.
"Try not to take it personally when I play what-if." It couldn't hurt to explain his methods. He needed her cooperative as her memory returned. Not withholding information. But— damn it. His hands should not be moving down her back. "It's my way of analyzing a case."
"You always play what if?"
"What ifs have kept me alive the past decade. So, yeah— I find the exercise useful."
"You've been chasing drug dealers for ten years?" Suddenly realizing their proximity, she loosened her clasp on his waist, her face heating with color. "Sorry— I-"
"It's okay." Relief warred with disappointment when she slid away.
"No wonder you're so jaded."
He stiffened at the slight. "Experience does that."
"You've probably seen everything." Her eyes heated with sudden understanding. "I'm guessing all of it bad, right?"
Despite the graphic memories flooding his brain, Matt nodded, surprised by her understanding. Death had a way of lingering.
"How do you forget?"
"You don't. You just file them away." Suddenly feeling lighter, he wondered why.
"I wish I could remember my business." She dropped her gaze. "I wish I knew what I'm good at. I'm tired of feeling stupid. Lost."
"I don't think 'stupid' is a word anyone would use in describing you." Matt shifted against the cushion, acutely aware he was trying to comfort a suspect. But his usual tactics wouldn't work on Julie. A softer approach might yield results.
Okay— now he was just trying to justify his actions. "If you run a business, you must be smart," he reminded. "Probably successful, too. Those shoes looked pricey."
"My Jimmy Choos." A smile quirked. "Maybe I'm a shopaholic."
"Jimmy who?"
"I finally splurged on something I really wanted-" She shook her head. "And I lost them the first time I wore them."
"I wouldn't count on getting them back." He raised an eyebrow. "They're expensive?" Matt's imagination completed the picture. Long, perfect legs and stiletto heels. A short, black dress meant to be peeled off-
"Super duper expensive. But they were marked down-"
He pried his mind away from the fantasy, her words making him smile. Super duper.
"For once I just . . . cut loose and bought them." Her eyes flashed with guilt.
"Which part is unusual— hot shoes or the expense?"
"Both, I think." Guilt clouded the vibrant green. "I don't think I'm much fun," she confessed. "I think I'm one of those people everyone tells to loosen up."
Her wistful expression made him smile. "You look pretty relaxed now."
"Black eye. Stitches." Glancing down at herself, she smiled. "I'm a mess."
Not from where he sat. Matt's pulse jolted. What in sweet hell was he thinking? He swerved his careening brain back to the job. "We'll have several agents here tomorrow. Try to remember we're on the same side."
Sensing the abrupt change, Julie retrieved her crutches. "Is that your subtle way of telling me to cooperate?"
Matt's gaze followed her. "I don't do 'subtle'."
"Well, that's a relief."
He tried to read her expression but when she smiled, he forgot to breathe. "Why?"
"Because you really suck at it."
He leaned in, stunned to realize he wanted to capture the warmth of her smile. For an insane, frozen moment, Matt acknowledged he was about to kiss her. Flashing, emerald eyes widened. He heard the rasp of surprise when her breath caught. Awareness arced between them, scorching the air they shared.
Until his flat-lining brain kick-started. Matt jerked back, cursing the momentary lapse.
"I should-" Confusion clouded her eyes.
"You should," he interrupted. He dragged unsteady fingers through his hair. "It's late."
***
He'd nearly kissed her.
Leaning against the bedroom door, Julie released a shaky breath, recounting the previous five minutes. Awareness had crackled between them. His amazing mouth had been mere inches from hers. Behind his professor glasses, Matt had worn a befuddled expression. Heat and confusion. Although he hadn't panicked, she'd sensed a subtle erosion of the calm facade. Damn— why had he stopped?
Whoa. Her eyes bugged over the revelation. What was she thinking? How could she be even remotely interested in Agent Barnes? Okay, so he was hot. Sizzling, sex-on-a-plate hot. But he was the enemy. The only rational explanation was fear. Julie nodded, eager to accept any semi-logical excuse.
Limping to the bed, she acknowledged the irresistible urge to lean on someone. Barnes was a port in the storm. She was vulnerable. Needing comfort. The longing that swept over her had been almost painful. As though it had been awhile. Was she really so lonely she'd choose the man who wanted to arrest her?
What did it say about her that she was fantasizing about a man whose goal was placing her behind bars? Face flaming, she swung her braced ankle into bed."That you're a pathetic loser?" She had bigger problems than sex. She was trapped in a nightmare with no foreseeable way out. With a sigh of frustration, she sank into the pillows. Should she stick to Barnes for safety? Or try to escape?
What about the killer on her trail? Ski Mask could be miles away. She wanted to believe she was safe. Here, tonight. And when she finally returned home. But wanting something desperately didn't make it true.
Whatever problems she'd been juggling had been escalating for weeks. The mystery appointment at an abandoned warehouse. Had she gone of her own volition? Or had she been guided there— into a trap?
Trust no one. The words whispered through her brain. What had she discovered that made her worth killing? Her gaze drifted to the darkened windows. He could be out there— lurking in the woods. Or in her parking garage back home. A faceless attacker waiting to strike. He'd tried to finish her off at the hospital. He would try again.
The only thing of value to Barnes was her memory. The only path to reclaiming her life. She had to remember. "Soon," she vowed. What she'd seen. What she knew. Maybe— what she'd done. A truth she sensed she was avoiding.
A truth that changed everything.
***
The shotgun blast woke Matt as it did nearly every night. Bolting up in the chair near Julie's bed, his heart pumped with adrenaline, the blanket tangled around him. Pam . . . all over agai
n. Nearly three months— and her face was still etched in his mind, as though it happened yesterday. His medical leave hadn't lessened the image that still haunted him.
Doctor Bannett had called his bluff when Matt tried to downplay his nightmares. She'd argued the dreams were necessary, his subconscious working through trauma his conscious mind wouldn't allow. She'd left unsaid the part about him being too stubborn— that if he'd been willing to discuss the incident, his nightmares would lessen. But Pam's death had shaken him to the core. His informant had trusted him. And he'd let her down. Discussing his biggest failure with the agency shrink wasn't exactly high on the list of things he was itching to do.
Why the hell was he contemplating a return to the field? He should stick with forensics. At least if he screwed up there, no one died. But in the field, all bets were off.
Neck stiff, Matt stifled a groan as he rose from the uncomfortable chair. Nearly one a.m. The soft, even breathing from the bed told him Julie slept on, oblivious to her surroundings. A smile lifted his lips. No snoring monsters tonight. When he'd finally summoned the courage to enter the spare bedroom, his sorely lacking willpower had returned. He'd kept his gaze away from her— just in case.
Catching himself glancing her way, he jerked his attention to the door, stretching cramped muscles. Time for a perimeter check. Lightning illuminated the bedroom with an eerie glow, thunder still rumbling in the distance. The storm had lingered for hours. Matt crept through the still house, checking windows and doors for signs of tampering. The alarm system glowed reassuringly red. Fumbling for his cell, he was surprised he'd slept through Paul's last check-in.
The local cop should've texted. He winced as the screen brightened the darkened hallway. Paul hadn't checked in since midnight. He'd missed his one o'clock. Cripes— locals. He was probably sleeping. To avoid embarrassment, Matt would allow him fifteen minutes. Then he'd be forced to call and wake him up.
His mind replayed their dinner conversation. Julie's reaction to his announcement about Munoz had been enthusiastic— by what she'd perceived as progress. Until he'd mentioned the killer's connection to her. Only then had she revealed fear.
He sidestepped the fact that he'd nearly kissed her. Hell— she didn't even like him. And he preferred it that way. Three months away from the agency had weakened him. In the old days, a woman like Julie wouldn't have swayed him for a second. Three months ago, Matt wouldn't have needed to remind himself.
But Julie didn't look like any dealer he'd ever known. And she sure as hell didn't use. Her tox report had been clean. Different too, she didn't remind him of the women who latched onto cartel millionaires. Incredibly beautiful women whose sharp edges couldn't hide behind a bleached smile or a generously enhanced body. Eventually, manipulators revealed themselves.
Forcing his uncooperative brain back to the case, Matt drew a mental schematic of what they knew. The heroin on Julie's clothes tied to the raid eight weeks earlier. Matias Munoz was tied to that raid. Matias worked for the mysterious and deadly Viper. The blood under Julie's nails tied her to Matias. Was she tied to Viper as well?
Matt frowned. It would take a powerful set of circumstances for Julie to be a victim in that scenario. Mullaney had suggested distribution routes. Marsh Point bordered upstate New York, nearly two hundred miles from Boston. Heading for the stairs, he froze. If this was the route into the US from Canada— then there had to be a stopping point. Maybe Marsh Point was the perfect, isolated outpost for the load to be broken down. Purity to be cut with cheap, sometimes toxic substitutes. Then— a vast quantity of less potent drug re-batched and transported to Boston for distribution.
Trudging upstairs, he slipped into one empty bedroom after another, each one filled with memories. Echoing with laughter. He finally understood his mother's complaints. The last few years had been too quiet. Madeline wanted these rooms filled again. With late night secrets. Smothered laughter and little feet scampering back and forth. Like he and Ayssa had done. With cousins and friends.
Standing in the shadows, Matt scanned the clearing, listening to the stillness, broken only by the distant rumble of thunder as the storm finally moved on. Seconds from crossing the room to the opposite window, he froze, his skin prickling with awareness. Before his brain could process the signals, his heart began tripping in response.
Movement— barely visible in the lightning flash. His body tightened to red alert status, he waited impatiently for another flash. When it finally came, the spot his gaze had locked on was empty. His heartbeat drummed a warning. Combined with Paul's missed call-
Blood pounding in his ears, he bolted for the stairs. Something was going down. And he might just be alone to deal with it.
***
Chapter 4
Matt moved silently through the house, Glock firmly in his grip as he found his shoes and slipped into them. If Munoz was out there, he sure as hell wasn't alone. The temptation to stay was strong. Shove Julie in a closet and hold down the fort. He had enough ammo to hold them off until help arrived. But he resisted the urge.
Matias wouldn't plan a fair fight. He'd force them into the open. Something drastic. Torch his house— ram a vehicle into it— anything to route them from cover. Then he'd pick them off. He had to get her out. Mentally laying out his escape route, he decided on the basement. One exit faced the lake— and the boathouse. If he could get her there, they had a fair shot of losing Munoz. The boathouse would provide temporary cover.
Before he'd locked up for the night, and with Julie safely asleep— he'd taken a chance. Slipping from the house, he'd checked on Paul. Knowing too well how Munoz and Viper operated— there was strong potential the local cop had been bribed. If Matias could buy a cop, it was one less he'd have to kill. Initially, he'd only been concerned about the part-timer's skill level. After watching Paul from the shadowed woods surrounding the cottage, Matt had concluded nothing suspicious was going on. But the local cop wasn't knocking himself out, either. After taking a leak in his mother's prized azaleas, Paul had hopped back into the warmth of his cruiser.
Unwilling to trust his fate to the drowsy, half-assed effort of a part-timer, Matt had continued his preparedness, creeping down to the docks. Finessing his canoe free of the slip, he'd dragged it along the shore to his neighbor's property. Hidden in the reeds, along with a napsack of supplies. Like the old days camping with his cousins— he'd learned the benefit of being ready at a moment's notice. A decade of summer nights spent sneaking out meant they'd explored every inch of the lake, drifted every cove, camping in nooks along the way. With any luck, his preparations wouldn't be needed.
Yeah, right. Not three hours later, he was skulking through his house like a felon. His eyes adjusting to the deeper shadows on the first floor, Matt confirmed the alarm system still hadn't been breached as he made his way back to Julie. His series of booby traps on the first floor windows and doors were still intact. At some point, they would cut his power. Under cover of darkness, Matt would have the advantage of surprise— but not for long.
Breathing easier as he entered the spare room, his gaze locked on Julie as he moved to the bed. Despite the danger he sensed closing in around them, he experienced a stab of protectiveness as he watched her sleep. As fragile as she appeared, he hoped she'd rally for the dangerous challenge awaiting them.
Dropping to the edge of the bed, he covered her mouth with his hand. She came awake with a start, her immediate instinct to fight. "Julie, it's-" A moment later she took a wild swing and connected.
"Ow— damn it." With his free hand, he probed his jaw, surprised she hadn't loosened any teeth. Still flailing against him, he slid out of reach when she kicked the blankets free, afraid her ninja moves would connect with a far more sensitive region. "It's Matt-" When she swung at him again, he lowered his mouth to her ear. "Jules— stop fighting me." Her staccato breath frantic against his palm, he felt her relax, the struggle dissipating as she remembered where she was. "Someone's outside," he whispered. "We need to leave. Do you
understand?"
Waiting for her nod, he removed his hand. "Get some clothes on," he urged. "I need you to do everything exactly as I tell you, okay?" Eyes wide, she nodded. "No questions. I'll explain later."
Surprisingly, she was more alert than he'd anticipated for being awakened in the dead of night. While she dressed, he stood in the window, hidden in shadow as he searched the side yard. There was noise now— a crunch on the gravel. An infinitesimal scrape as someone brushed against one of the boxwoods near the winding walkway at the front of the house. It wouldn't be long.
But where would the attack originate? He wondered if the basement would be their point of entry, then dismissed it. With the double dead-bolt and a wrought iron outer door, he doubted they'd attempt it. Too noisy. Too much of a warning to the occupants. His mother had designed the doors long ago, when the cottage wasn't used in the winter. Flimsy doors invited drifters and vagrants. While his mother's largesse was renowned in the greater Boston area, including several homeless shelters, her generosity didn't extend to the unauthorized use of her cabin.
It would be the first floor, Matt decided. One of these windows— or the front porch. Whether by stealth or by crashing through them- The tug on his sleeve made him turn. Julie stood before him, equal parts fear and determination in her eyes. "I'm ready."
Roping icy fingers through his, Matt tugged her closer, the scent of her hair grazing his nose. "I'll lead you through the house. We're going out through the basement. Heading for the boathouse. If we get separated-"
She startled, her grip tightening. "I want to stay with you."
"I'm not leaving," he reassured. "But if— something happens. If I need to distract them— I want you to head for the water. Once your eyes adjust, you'll see the boathouse. Go around it to the far corner."
"Right or left?"
At least she was paying attention. He smiled. "Right. You'll find a path that parallels the water. Walk until you reach the hedges. That's the boundary with our neighbor. Hide there until I come for you."
Out of the Mist (Can't Help Falling Book 1) Page 5
